CHAPTER XVI

WINDOW BOXES

“IT just seems to me,” said Marjorie, at breakfast one morning, “that I _must_ go out and dig.”

“Dig for what?” asked King; “buried treasure?”

“No, not dig for anything, except just to dig. It’s so springish outdoors, and so—well, such diggy weather.”

“Oh! You mean to plant things,” said King. “Well, let’s all make gardens. It’s Saturday, and we can dig ’em this morning, and plant ’em this afternoon, and there you are!”

“Yes,” said Kitty, scornfully, “there you are! Who’s going to water them all summer, and weed them? You know very well, Mops, that when we didn’t keep our gardens nice last spring, Father said we couldn’t have any this year.”

“I know it; that’s what’s bothering me. I know we can’t have gardens, but I do want to dig.”

“Oh, well,” said King, “go and dig in the sand-heap. That won’t do any harm, and you can dig as long as you like.”

“No,” said Midget, disconsolately; “I want to plant a garden. I wish Father hadn’t said we couldn’t. If he was here, I’m sure I could coax him to let me do it. I’d keep it weeded and watered this year—I know I would.”

“Yes; if Thomas did it all for you,” laughed King. “No, Mopsy Midget, you’re too careless to take care of a garden. Take your big brother’s advice, and don’t begin on schemes that you can’t carry out.”

“But I want to dig,” said Marjorie, again.

“Mopsy Maynard,” said King, “I’ve got that thoroughly in my head. I’m positively convinced that you want to dig, but I’ve done all I can in the matter, so don’t repeat that information for _my_ benefit.”

“I want to dig,” said Marjorie, in just the same tone; saying it, now, of course, merely to tease her brother.

“I dig wiv oo, Middy; we dig togevver,” volunteered Rosy Posy, always willing to do anything for her adored Midget.

“All right, Rosy Posy. You and I’ll go dig down deep in the ground, and p’raps we’ll find something nice.”

“Ess,” said the baby, with an affirmative nod of her curly head; “ess, we find nice woims.”

This made them all laugh, except Miss Larkin, who gave a little shudder at Rosy Posy’s suggestion.

“Marjorie,” she said, after a moment, “I’ve an idea for your digging, if you really want to dig.”

“Well, I do feel like it, Miss Larkin, but I was mostly fooling. For Father did tell us we couldn’t have gardens this year, and I was glad of it when he said it, but now I’ve just taken a notion to dig.”

“It’s the spring,” said Kitty, sagely. “Spring always makes you feel diggy. But you’ll get over it, Mops.”

Kitty’s philosophical remarks, though not always comforting, were usually founded on fact.

“But, children, listen,” said Miss Larkin, who sometimes had difficulty to get an opportunity to speak. “This is my idea. You know your mother and father will be home week after next.”

“Hooray! Hooray!” shouted King. “’Scuse me, Miss Larkin, but I sure _am_ glad!”

“Me too—me too—me too,” chanted Marjorie, until Kitty cried out:

“I’m glad, myself, but Mops, do stop singing a dirge about it.”

“What is a dirge, Kit?” asked King. “You do use such awfully grown-up words. You oughtn’t to do it at nine years old. What’ll you be when you’re as old as I am?”

“I hope I’ll be less noisy than you two are,” said Kitty, but she smiled good-naturedly at her more boisterous brother and sister. “Anyway, I think we all might be quiet long enough to let Miss Larkin say what she wants to.”

“I think so, too,” said Midget. “Go ahead, Larky, dear. Tell us about this digging scheme of yours.”

“Well,” began Miss Larkin, almost timidly, for when the children grew noisy, it always made her nervous, “it seemed to me it would be nice to prepare a little surprise for your parents’ homecoming.”

“Oh!” groaned King; “no more pageants for me! No more floats or celebrations or North Poles at present! No more marching half a mile wrapped in buffalo robes! Nay, nay, Pauline.”

“Oh, King, do be still,” begged Kitty. “Go on, Miss Larkin.”

“And I thought, children dear, that it would be nice to get some window boxes and piazza boxes, and plant bright flowers in them. Then, you see, Marjorie, you can dig and plant, and yet not disobey your father’s command not to make a garden. For, of course, he meant a garden on the ground, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” said Midget. “I think window boxes would be fine! Tell us more about it, Larky, dear.”

Pleased at the interest they all showed, Miss Larkin went on:

“I’ve arranged a great many myself, so I know just how. And it’s very pretty work, and though, of course, it’s some trouble, it’s not nearly so much as a garden.”

“It’s beautiful!” cried Marjorie; “I’m crazy to get at it. Can we begin now? Aren’t you through your breakfast, Miss Larkin? You don’t want any more coffee, do you? Come on, let’s get to work!”

“Oh, Marjorie, you’ll drive me distracted!” cried the poor lady, clapping her hands to her head. “I ’most wish I hadn’t proposed it.”

“Please excuse her, Miss Larkin,” said King. “She’s a bad-mannered young thing, but I’ll tame her.”

Jumping up, King caught off Marjorie’s hair-ribbon and ran round the table with it. Of course, Midget ran after him, and a general scramble followed.

Watching her chance to get out of the room without tumbling over the combatants, Miss Larkin escaped, and, running up to her own room, locked herself in.

“Now, you’ve made her mad, King,” said Marjorie, reproachfully. She wasn’t a bit annoyed, herself, at King’s capers, but it was quite evident that Miss Larkin was.

“What geese you two are,” remarked Kitty. “I don’t see why you want to carry on so.”

“Look out, Kit, or you’ll lose your own hair-ribbon,” said King, grinning, as he made a threatening move toward her big blue bow.

“Oh, take it if you want it,” said Kitty, pulling it off, herself, and offering it politely to her brother.

Of course, this made them all laugh, and as Marjorie tied Kitty’s ribbon again in place, and Kitty tied hers, they debated what they should do.

“Let’s write a note and say we’re sorry, and stick it under her door,” said Midget.

This seemed a good plan, and they all agreed.

“You write it, King,” said Kitty. “’Cause you write the best of all of us.”

So King wrote, and they all suggested subject-matter for the effusion.

“Dear Miss Larkin:” the note began.

“Shall I say we’re sorry?” asked King.

“Oh, that sounds so silly,” objected Marjorie; “I mean so—so sensible, you know. Let’s say something to make her laugh.”

“Say this,” suggested Kitty: “Three miserable sinners crouched outside your door, await your pardon.”

“That’s fine,” said King, approvingly; “go on, Kit.”

“We do want to dig,” put in Marjorie, “and we want to make window boxes, and we want to make them quick.”

“That goes,” said King, writing rapidly; “next?”

“We’re still crouching,” went on Kitty, “we really will be, you know—and we hope you’ll open the door right away, and say bless you, my children. And then we’ll fly on the wings of the wind to do your bidding.”

“A little highfalutin,” commented King, “but I guess it’ll do.”

They all signed the document, and then raced upstairs. Poking it under Miss Larkin’s door, they all crouched and waited.

Soon her voice came to them, through the keyhole.

“Are you all crouching there?” she said.

“Yes!” was the reply in concert.

“Well, I’ll forgive you, if you’ll promise not to tumble around so, and pull off hair-ribbons. It isn’t pretty manners, at all.”

“That’s so, Miss Larkin,” said honest King; “and I’m awful sorry. Come out—shed the light of your blue eyes upon us once more, and all will be forgiven.”

Laughing in spite of herself, Miss Larkin opened the door, and found the three children crouching on the floor, their faces buried in their hands. As the door opened, they gave a long, low, wailing groan, previously agreed upon, and then they jumped up, smiling.

“Dear Miss Larkin,” said King, with overdone politeness, “may we invite you to go window-boxing with us? It’s a delightful day, and we want——”

“We want to dig,” interrupted Marjorie.

“Yes, we’ll set about it at once,” said Miss Larkin, briskly.

It had suddenly occurred to her that the best way to quiet these turbulent young people was to get them occupied.

“My intention is,” she said, “to present you children with the window boxes, and the plants. Then, after we set them out, of course, you will have to take care of them—or Thomas will. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy doing it yourself, and, as I said, they will make a lovely greeting for your parents on their return.”

“Where do we get the boxes?” King burst out, rather explosively, for he was trying to repress his over-enthusiasm.

“I think we can get them all ready made, at Mr. Pettingill’s shop. I saw some there the other day. That’s what made me think of it. Get your hats, and we’ll go and see.”

At last, here was a start. They flew for their hats, the girls taking the precaution to hang on to their hair-ribbons, for King was in mischievous mood this morning.

In less than ten minutes they started, King and Miss Larkin walking decorously ahead, and the two girls walking demurely behind.

At the shop, they found boxes already painted green, and built in the most approved fashion as to lining of zinc and pipe drainage.

They selected three, two to be placed on either side of the front verandah, and the other across Mrs. Maynard’s bedroom window, which was in the middle of the house, in the second story.

These were bought and ordered sent home, and the shopkeeper promised to send them at once.

So the quartette went next to the florist’s.

Here they grew quieter, for they became greatly interested in listening to Mr. Gilbert’s advice about plants for boxes.

After careful consideration of the various flowers, they made their choice.

Each was expected to select plants for one box, and then to plant and care for that especial box all summer.

Marjorie was given the box for her mother’s window; and she chose scarlet geraniums, with ferns for a background, and a border of sweet alyssum in front.

“You may have some trouble with them ’ere ferns, Miss,” said the good-natured florist. “But if you do, an’ if ’tain’t your fault, you come back here, and I’ll give you new ones fer ’em. That maidenhair fern’s pretty hard to raise.”

“Oh, I’ll be very careful,” said Marjorie, confidently. “I think it will grow all right.”

“Everybody allus thinks that,” said Mr. Gilbert, with a twinkle in his eye. “But if by any chance it don’t, you come an’ tell me ter wonst.”

Kitty and King had the other two boxes, and, of course, had to select plants that harmonized with each other. Kitty chose French dwarf petunias, whose ruffled flowers excited her admiration as soon as she saw them. The colors were various shades of rose pink, and also white ones.

Then a trailing vine, known as Vinca Major, was selected to hang down and cover the front of the box, “like a frizzly bang,” Kitty said.

King’s flowers were verbenas, of the same colors as Kitty’s blossoms, and he, too, had the green vine for a fringe. They bought, too, some mignonette to form a background, and then Miss Larkin said they had enough plants.

The florist’s boy started at once with their purchases, and by the time they had walked home, all the things were ready for them to begin.

Thomas was called upon to help, and he worked under Miss Larkin’s directions; but all such portions of the work as the children could do, were done by their little hands.

In the bottom of the boxes they had to put a layer of small stones. This was fun, for the stones had to be picked up from the driveway, and great care was used in getting good shapes and sizes.

Then some charcoal was sprinkled in, and after that the dirt was put in.

Thomas provided them with the right sort of soil, and at last Marjorie was able to dig to her heart’s content.

“Isn’t it fun!” she exclaimed, as, with hat and coat tossed off on the grass, she dug with a trowel, and also with her ten grimy little fingers. James and Thomas had set the boxes in their places, and fastened them firmly, and when it was time to put in the flowers themselves, Midget fairly jumped for joy.

To plant her box, she had to get out of another window onto the roof, but as Thomas took care she didn’t roll off in her enthusiasm, she was safe while at work.

First she put in the ferns at the back; Miss Larkin advising from her standpoint inside Mrs. Maynard’s room, and Thomas and Marjorie doing the actual planting. Then the lovely scarlet geraniums, and in front of them the tiny plants of sweet alyssum. This wasn’t yet in bloom, but they hoped it would be by the day of Mrs. Maynard’s arrival.

Also, Miss Larkin and Thomas helped the other two young gardeners below stairs.

King’s and Kitty’s boxes were longer than Marjorie’s, as they were verandah boxes.

King grew a little impatient at the necessary slowness of the work, and willingly accepted Thomas’s help; but Kitty was ambitious to do it all herself, and worked away untiringly.

It took nearly the whole day, but at last, when four o’clock found the boxes all complete, and a lovely mass of bright blossoms, the Maynards, though too tired for vigorous romping, were exuberant with joy.

“It was the loveliest idea, Larky!” said Marjorie, patting the lady’s face, with hands that showed traces of good brown earth. “I’m _so_ glad you thought of it.”

“So’m I,” said Kitty and King, together.

“Now, go and get tidied,” said Miss Larkin, “and then I’ll give you further instructions.”

This didn’t sound very interesting, but when they came back to the living-room an hour later, clean, and rested, they found Miss Larkin waiting for them, with most attractive-looking little books in her hands.

They proved to be little notebooks, in which she had written just what they must do through the coming months, to keep their plants in good order. Every direction was clearly given; every contingency was provided for; and Kitty said:

“Well, if those posies don’t grow right, it will be our fault, not theirs.”

“It won’t be my fault,” said Midget, with determination. “I’m going to take care of my flowers awful carefully. ’Cause I want to show Father that I’ve improved since last year.”

“That’s the right spirit,” said Miss Larkin, approvingly; “try to do better each year, and thus grow up to be good and worthy women.”

“I can’t do that,” said King, with a sigh, “but probably I’ll grow up to be President.”